Warmth
by Aoi-Kitsune
Summary: [ONESHOT] At long last, the warmth – sacred and pure – he was searching and yearning for so long had found him.


**Disclaimer: **Pokémon belongs to their respective owners.

**A.N:** This is my first time doing a Pokémon fanfiction. Most of the plot is based on in-game events.

**Warning:** HoennChampion Shipping from here on out with minor Hoenn Shipping.

- - - - -

He was used to the cold; bitter and unforgiving.

He found he would much prefer the dark, desolate dampness and the humid coarseness the caverns provided, much more so than the sanctity of his home. The cool air currents flowing through the tunnels seemed and **were** much warmer than his empty, silent home. During his childhood days, he could remember how he would spend his time traversing the rocky outstretch just outside the vicinity of the city, looking for and collecting minerals, a favourite pastime of his. His mother thought otherwise, her face all red with anger, and often chastised him for coming home scabbed and bruised with mud and dirt over his clothes.

That was before Death brutally and viciously, robbed and carried her away to the grave along with his last childhood memories of warmth. The man whom he called a father wasn't much of one – he wasn't home most of the time to even care about his own son's welfare – had futilely tried to fill the empty void in their broken home. His father finally relented and instead focused more on his thriving company, leaving his son to fend for himself.

He was **not **used to the cold.

- - - - -

He faintly remembered the first time he had met her in the cold, murky blackness of the terrain, the way she had nervously asked before handing over the thick envelope with his father's signature on it, all too reminiscent of the childhood naïveté he once had.

"Um… are you Steven Stone, by any chance?" she asked hesitantly, shuffling her feet.

"Oh? And what would a lady like yourself want from a person like me?" he replied, smiling and wondering why she - still a young and fragile girl – would step foot in the darkest cave, even with her beloved and trusted companions at her side. He watched as her face reddened as she feebly reached inside her pouch to draw out an envelope, stark white and crisp.

"I-I was asked to deliver this letter to you," she stuttered, thrusting the letter towards him with outstretched hands. He was faintly aware of the saccharine scent of warmth and sunlight she possessed, the radiant and youthful gleam that radiated from her eyes – all things he **shouldn't** and **can't** have or even think about.

"A letter? I see, thank you for delivering it to me…um…"

"May, that's my name," she added, her face still dyed pink.

"Right. Thank you, May."

As she reached to shake his outstretched hand – to touch someone so warm was such a sin for someone such as himself – he noticed and felt how warm her hands were, even under those gloves, an austere contrast to his cold, pale hands. He had left the cave after bidding their farewells, his hand still tingling with her touch.

It was then he began to crave her warmth.

- - - - -

He didn't know when and how he, subconsciously and passively, began to look for her. He kept reminding himself that those were chance meetings, a fleeting passing-by, but deep inside he knew better. The utter palpability of it all disgusts and sickens him to the pit of his stomach; he loathes himself for it. He used to think he could hide – veil his scars and wounds – under his façade of smiles and pleasantries. Since he met her those few months ago – the witch she was, casting an irrevocable spell on him – he could no longer hold his emotions in check.

He had eradicated thoughts he had of committing unthinkable things to that boy; he faintly recollected that he was the regional professor's son, her childhood friend no less. It took him moments to realize he was envious of that boy who could be so close to her, something he couldn't hope to achieve. He didn't know when he had sunk so – pathetically and despicably – low. He despised the way how Wallace, even Drake and Glacia, could see what he was trying so hard to hide and bury in the deepest recesses of his mind.

"You should just tell her. It can't be that hard," Wallace had told him. He had said nothing in his defense – how he wished it wasn't so shamefully obvious – and simply renounced his title, handing the mantle over to his friend. He decided that it was for the best for him not to see her anymore than he needed to, but he knew that he was just running away, like a coward.

He knew he could no longer deny her existence or the terrible torturous effects she had on him.

- - - - -

Misfortune and disaster reared their ugly apocryphal heads – a malignant curse befell the once peaceful region – tormenting all of Hoenn with torrential downpours and blistering sunlight enough to melt the icy caverns. It was because of those foolish men; they had thought they could control those ancient beasts like mere tools. When he had found out about what had taken place in that prehistoric cave, the first thing that flitted through his mind was **her**. He had been worried to the point of despair about her safety and well-being. He immediately mounted his Skarmory to look for her, despite the pouring rain and scorching heat. Much to his chagrin, it was badly weather-beaten and became sore soon after. He soon found her on the shallow pools above the ancient underwater cavern, unscathed.

He remembered the surprise on her face, it was not relief he had reprimanded himself; when he found her. He stopped himself from embracing her there and then, but instead redirected her to Sootopolis. As he led her to the tunnel in the city, he knew he had to leave before he could lose self-control and all restraint. He would run away, to anywhere the wind would take him as long as **she** wasn't there near him.

He ran away – once again a coward, not by choice.

- - - - -

It had been a whole two years since he had last seen her and tasted the honey-sweet warmth she had brought along with her. He had left her a farewell letter in his house knowing she would stop by sooner or later and with it a poignant memory of him. He banished any thoughts of going to see her – visiting, he put it – but instead spent his time metres underneath the earth, his age-old and forgotten sanctuary. However, she had found him again, her persistence puzzled him greatly. She had not changed in the past years except she had now become the new regional Champion, this he knew from a deflated Wallace. Her warmth did not fade, nor did her rustic gentle smile. If he had known any better, she seemed and was warmer than before.

"There you are!" she grinned, pointing an accusing finger at him, "Really, is this where have you been hiding all this time?"

"I guess hide and seek's over," he found himself smiling at her impetuousness. She laughed as she grabbed his hand, and dragged him outside to where the fresh wind rode over the verdant fields and the sun shone blindingly. He watched as she let go of his hand, running ahead before turning back to look at him, smiling.

"Aren't you coming?"

He realized he could never run away from her; not again, not anymore. At long last, the warmth – sacred and pure – he was searching and yearning for so long had found him.

- - - - -

**A.N:** Criticism is much encouraged but no flames please.


End file.
